


the moon and the earth

by rainbowpetals (necessarymistakes)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Hopeful Ending, M/M, POV Alternating, Pining, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21964282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necessarymistakes/pseuds/rainbowpetals
Summary: Chanyeol meets Jongin at a bus stop, and this is just the beginning.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Kim Jongdae | Chen, Kim Jongin | Kai/Park Chanyeol, Oh Sehun/Park Chaeyoung | Rosé
Comments: 14
Kudos: 40





	the moon and the earth

**Author's Note:**

> I hope your Christmas is/was great and your end of the year is too! 
> 
> Once again, I thank [Keiko](/users/opinionoutpost/) for beta reading! 
> 
> ENJOY.
> 
> Updated on 01/12/2021:
> 
> this fic was first titled _between yesterday and tomorrow is you_.

Jongin walks to the bus stop a few blocks from his school, hugging his arms. It’s chilly despite the big gray hoodie and the thick black tights he is wearing. He’s also carrying his duffel bag, full of dirty clothing, a couple of textbooks, and his laptop.

It’s ten on a Friday night, and the campus is quiet and serene under the lights sprinkled along the student pathways. He didn’t mean to take the bus so late, but he lost track of time after he exited his last class and went to the practice rooms. While classes aren’t terribly difficult, he has a recital coming up at the end of the term, and although his piece is a partnership with another student, Taeyong, it has to be completely choreographed by them, and it has to reflect what they’ve learned for the past year and a half. This is both thrilling and stressful. Like the library, the practice rooms are almost always open, encouraging students to work and practice as much as they need. He spent the time in the practice room putting together something tentative that he will share with Taeyong on Sunday evening when he gets back to campus.

Jongin is spending the weekend at his sister’s since the dorm room, that he shares with Sehun, is getting a new carpet. Slowly but surely, the school was replacing the carpets of his building since a water pipe broke last week and flooded their floor. This weekend, thankfully, is his and Sehun’s turn for their carpet to be replaced. However, Sehun got to spend the night at his girlfriend’s, who also went to their school, and since she is a year older, she has her own room. Jongin had grouchily thought as he packed his bag that Sehun was a lucky brat because he had to someone close he could crash with as opposed to him who had to go to his sister’s apartment which was across town. He’d asked his sister to pick him up, but she couldn’t because she was scheduled every night this week to be at the hospital. However, she’d told him that she’d leave the keys to her apartment with her neighbor, Joonmyun; all that he had to do was knock on his door and ask for the keys. Jongin had grimaced at the idea of his sister sharing pictures of him to her neighbor so that the neighbor (Joonmyun?) knew who he was and did not mistake him for a burglar. Not that there really is any chance for him to be mistaken for anything but her brother since their similarity is uncanny.

As he gets nearer to the bus stop, he sees someone already seated on the bench. They’re wearing a black jacket and their dark hair is a mess of curls. He slows down, discomfort settling on his shoulders. He knew there could be other people on the bus, yet he hadn’t anticipated having to wait with someone for the bus. He shifts the duffel bag so that the bag is resting against the front of his thighs and not his side.

Jongin doesn’t mean to stare, but since he caught sight of the earrings of the man as well as a small, white spike in the fleshy part of his ear, Jongin felt more uncomfortable. Jongin wouldn’t consider himself stuck up, but right now, all that he can hear is the stories he’s heard from his friends about people with piercings and tattoos and how they steal from unsuspecting, foolish people. He feels pretty foolish and unsuspecting. He peeks from underneath his overgrown hair as he rests against the pole connected to the roof over the bench. It’s then with the passing lights from a car that he notices a tattoo on the side of the person’s—the man’s neck. Most of it is obscured by the jacket’s collar but the dark lines are unmistakable. He’s wary. His mother has also talked of people with tattoos and how they’ve all been in jail. None of his friends have tattoos. Sehun jokes about one day getting a tattoo, but it always ends up in a laugh because it’s just a joke. Taboo for them. Unimaginable. Unreal. 

His hands stumble over themselves and his heart picks up as he pulls open the zipper of the gym bag and pulls out his phone. He sees two messages: one is from his sister, and the other from Sehun.

The man is sitting on the far left of the bench so there is enough room for Jongin to sit but Jongin stays in his spot as he responds to both his sister and Sehun letting them know that he’s at the bus stop. But, in addition, he also tells Sehun that there’s another guy at the bus stop _with earrings and tattoos! Sehun-ah, help me._ Jongin curls forward unknowingly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Jongin flinches at the sudden sound of laughter coming from his right. As he hears more chuckles, he understands the laughter is coming from the guy. It’s then that he realizes that he’s bent over with the weight of his duffel bag. He flushes even as he straightens his aching back. He wonders if the guy laughed at him, but he’s too self-conscious to look at him again, so he does nothing else and tries to remain alert in case the guy tries to do something. Not that he knows how to fight, but Jongin is tall and his legs are strong. He’s got this. He just needs to keep it together, and he’ll be in his sister’s apartment in no time. He tightens his hand on the strap of the bag while waiting for an answer from Sehun. 

When the bus arrives 10 minutes later, Jongin bounces away from the pole, stuffing his phone in the big pocket of his hoodie and taking in his hand his student ID. He is relieved because he had started to feel the toll of the long nights of practice and studying in his bones. He had _even_ begun to toy with the idea of settling onto the bench and curling into a nap. It was then that Jongin raised up his head, knowing that the fatigue was getting to him because he wanted sleep more than he wanted to keep a wary eye on the man. _Not a good idea at all._

The bus stops right in front of the man, but the man doesn’t go in when the bus doors swoosh open. Jongin is frozen when the man turns to Jongin and motions with a sweep of his hand for him to go in first. Jongin furrows his brows, feeling instantly compelled to do as the man bids, and hating himself for it. He meets the man’s awfully round, twinkling eyes and takes in the teasing smile on his full lips, and the dazzling dimples. 

Jongin is surprised by how young he seems to be— not at all dangerous. It’s then that he notices the man is carrying a guitar case. Jongin’s discomfort becomes laced with curiosity, but he is still hesitant to step before the man but doesn’t spend too long thinking about it because the bus driver is waiting, and it's late. 

When he gets closer, the man speaks, voice deep and husky. It sends a shiver up Jongin’s spine because it sounded closer than the man should be, personal. 

“After you, my prince.” 

The words are flirty and, perhaps, also cheesy. 

Still, Jongin glances at him with a frown on his face before stepping onto the bus. Even if the guy’s smile is wide and harmless, Jongin takes great satisfaction in seeing that smile wilt around the edges. 

Good. 

***

Baekhyun and Jongdae drop Chanyeol off at the bus stop on their way to a friend’s party. They just finished their set at _The Cool Kid,_ the university’s bar, and he is tired, in no mood to chat up anyone, whether girl, guy, or anyone else on the gender spectrum. 

Tonight, he wants to go home to Toben, short for Beethoven, his tiny, black poodle. 

“Your loss!” Baekhyun shouts at him when Chanyeol steps out of the car, hauling on his guitar case, and closes the car door before flipping Baekhyun off. The last thing he hears before they speed away is Jongdae and Baekhyun’s laughter as Baekhyun presses on the gas. Chanyeol shakes his head because Baekhyun has always liked to go fast, but the bastard never gets a ticket. 

They had offered to drop him off at his place, but he could tell how impatient they were both to be at the party. He wonders if that is why these two have been together for the last 6 years, ever since they graduated from high school. They are always on the same wavelength. He wonders if that is why he’d been single for the past couple of years since Joohyun. He takes a deep breath, mentally shaking off those feelings of regret that always seemed to inch around his torso, climbing up his neck like a persistent vine. He doesn’t really think of her anymore, but when he does, he always feels like this: regretful, like she was the one that got away. 

Since Chanyeol had felt good after the set, exhilaration underneath his skin, he told Baekhyun to drop him off at the upcoming bus stop because he could find his own way home. Baekhyun hadn’t questioned him. Maybe that was why Baekhyun was one of his best friends. He knew when to bug and when to leave it alone. 

He lets the air out, willing those last tendrils of negativity to fly away in the soft breeze. He sweeps his hair back with his fingers out-spread and rests the guitar case against the bench, before sitting down. Since he didn’t carry his earphones before heading for their set, Chanyeol prepares for a long, silent wait. He can’t sit still and ends up tapping several different beats of his favorite songs on his thighs as he waits. 

He’s on his third song when someone approaches the bus stop from his right. Instead of sitting on the bench like Chanyeol expects, the stranger stops and rests against one of the poles that support the roof over the bench. 

From his view he can tell that he’s slim, long legs encased in those tight black things that women mostly wear. But he’s not a woman—the broadness of his shoulders showcases that, even if that huge gray hoodie he’s wearing swallows up everything else, falling somewhere around his bottom. Chanyeol swallows, glancing away, lest the guy sees him staring. 

In the next moment, his eyes fall back onto the guy’s side profile when the car he had been following speeds by. His floppy hair falls onto his eyes, and Chanyeol smiles when the guy shakes his head to clear it out of his face as he quickly responds to someone on his phone. His nose is a soft curve leading to two petals for lips. While he can’t see his face clearly, Chanyeol finds his interest piqued because he has always been attracted to pretty faces regardless of gender. It’s how he met both Baekhyun and Jongdae back in high school. 

Chanyeol chuckles under his breath at his sudden interest, reigning it in, because he’s not about to make a move on this pretty guy. Not only because the guy’s posture screams stay away from me, but also because Chanyeol chose not to go to the party where he could have picked up a willing someone. The chuckles end up in a smile as he looks down back to his phone that now reads 10:07. The bus should be here in less than 10 minutes. 

_This kid_ , Chanyeol thinks, is probably unsettled, _afraid_ of him or else why—he looks up at him and—yes, he’s uncomfortably bent over his duffel like gravity is slowly pulling both the duffel bag and him to the ground. _But_ , Chanyeol corrects himself, the guy is probably not that much younger than him if he’s this close to the university at this time of night. But it’s the clothes, the attitude, and that perpetual pout that has Chanyeol feeling that this pretty boy is much younger than 18. 

Baekhyun sends him a picture of himself and Jongdae smiling, holding two bottles of beer by their faces with the message: 

Our night is better than yours, asshole ;) 

The cheekiness of the message steals a guffaw from him that startles both him and—yes, the boy as well. Chanyeol brings a hand to his mouth to stifle those laughs as he responds to Baekhyun. 

When the bus pulls to a stop almost in front of him, his blood sizzles, anticipation coiling at the bottom of his stomach. He’s not exactly sure what it is—is it? It really can’t be, but Chanyeol realizes he wants to see this pretty boy’s face. But there’s a barely-there shuffle from the boy as the bus doors pull open, and Chanyeol finds himself sweeping his hand back to beckon the stranger forward. 

He’s met with a golden face, arched eyebrows, dark, almond eyes, and rose lips open in an “O”. 

That sizzling anticipation spreads and spreads like rays of sunshine on his skin. It’s titillating, surprising, and thrilling. 

The words he whispers are more for him than for the boy since he’s mindful of not coming off as a creep. However, he’s always been louder than he wanted, and he’s met with the force of those dark eyes and those perfect eyebrows in a frown in response to his words. The boy doesn’t think much of him in this moment, but his stomach still flips. The traitor. 

Chanyeol swallows as the boy steps onto the bus, but he smiles to himself as he follows the boy in. 

This pretty boy is much more interesting than Chanyeol had first given him credit for. If only it was a different night in a different place. 

When Chanyeol sees him again, it’s a few weeks from that Friday night, and Chanyeol is already seated, somewhere in the middle of the bus and right by the window. He looks up as the boy—the prince, like he called him last time he saw him—passes his seat, white earphones in his ears, a petal lip in between his teeth, same pretty wrinkle in between his forehead. This time he’s wearing a huge, white fluffy sweater and tight, gray pants? He’s not sure what they are— _leggings_ his mind supplies—but his eyes follow him all the way to the back of the bus. He turns before the boy can look up, and Chanyeol notices he’s not the only one watching him. His eyes meet an older fellow’s brown eyes before Chanyeol’s looking out the window again. 

It’s late, so the bus is noticeably bare and quiet. When someone sneezes or moves from their spot, it’s jarring in the harsh light of the bus. Maybe Chanyeol has always been extra attuned to his surroundings at this time of night, when things can be unpredictable. 

He notices the older fellow get up from his seat and walk past him. He follows him with his eyes because he’s curious about this guy who was also watching _his_ pretty prince. His? 

Nobody is watching him as he turns in his seat to keep the guy in his sight; the only two other people beside him, the older fellow, and his pretty boy are seated close to the driver, up to the front. Chanyeol scoots onto the seat closer to the isle when the guy sits next to his prince. He can’t help the furrow of his eyebrows. 

He doesn’t know if it’s his close attention to those two in that back seat that allow the disgusting words to fly to his ears, but they do. Chanyeol finds himself gritting his teeth in response. 

“Why is such a pretty boy like you riding a bus alone at night?” 

The boy doesn’t look up from his lap, where he is probably on his phone, Chanyeol thinks. 

He lets out a breath but holds it when the older guy prods the pretty boy on his shoulder. Finally, disappointedly, he looks up, and Chanyeol in spite of himself, feels a shiver at the tone of his voice. 

“It’s really none of your business.” 

Chanyeol whoops in his head but stands up when the older fellow, leans in closer and puts an arm around him which _his_ pretty prince—Chanyeol will have to think long and hard about what this means later— shrugs off, but the guy does not relent.

“Come home with me.” 

Chanyeol is so close to them now, but the older guy doesn’t even seem to notice him—all his attention has zeroed in on the pretty man’s face. 

There’s that devastating frown again when the pretty boy makes to get up, but the guy doesn’t let him.

“Don’t be like that.” The guys whispers, but it’s as slimy as the trail left behind by a slug. 

“Let me go,” pretty boy’s eyes shift to him, gradual surprise making them wider. Chanyeol’s smile is small until the guy speaks again, and then it sharpens. 

“Don’t be a bitch.” 

And Chanyeol sits right next to the older guy, throwing his arm around him, pulling him closer. The guy startles, and tries to shrug him off, but just like he did to the younger man, Chanyeol doesn’t let go. He also pushes himself closer to the guy’s ear and says, “Hey, ditch the pretty boy, and why don’t you come back to my place?” He smirks, blood in his ears chanting something deadly. 

The guy stills for a brief moment and then turns around, red in the face. Chanyeol raises both his hands, eyebrow arched, mouth pulled into a lecherous grin, waiting. 

Before the older fellow can say anything, the driver calls up from the front once he pulls to a stop, “What is going on back there?” 

The older fellow gives him a look of disgust but yells up to the front, “Nothing, nothing.” He stands up and shoves past Chanyeol, who just keeps smirking. 

The bus starts up again and Chanyeol knows he should get up and leave this poor boy alone. But, he wants to make sure he’s okay. From the little that he can see of his face, it’s beaming red. He feels disgust at the back of his throat.

“Are you okay?” Chanyeol asks after a moment since the boy won’t look up from his phone.

It doesn’t take longer than five seconds he knows, but he feels like he’s overstaying his welcome, before the pretty boy looks up from his phone and into Chanyeol’s face to nod.

The loud song of anger and disgust thins out into silence as the boy’s brown eyes stare into his, petal lips parting. 

The moment is broken when the bus jerks to a stop and the boy looks away from him. 

Yet, Chanyeol can’t bring himself to say goodbye and go back to his seat before saying one last thing. His mother would be disappointed with him if she ever found out what happened, and he did not offer. 

Still, he almost bites his tongue before saying, “I can walk you home.” 

The pretty boy startles immediately at his words, music obviously not on at all. Dark brown eyes glance at him again, then up at rest of the bus, but he shakes his head. Chanyeol’s heart sinks for whatever reason, even though he understands that the important thing was letting this pretty, pretty boy know he is not alone. 

He’s about to stand up when the smooth, honey voice he’s heard only once before says, “I’ll be fine.” 

Chanyeol bites his tongue to stop himself from asking for his name. He nods to himself once and lets out a sigh as he gets up. Maybe if this was another place, another day, he’d— 

A couple of stops later, he sees the pretty boy walk to the bus doors. Chanyeol looks out the window until the boy becomes a tiny dot in the distance. 

Chanyeol rides the bus two, three, four Fridays after this but doesn’t see him. Baekhyun’s eyes gradually become more pointed and more curious every time Chanyeol asks to be dropped off at the bus stop after their set at _The Cool Kid_. Maybe it’s his fault for asking to be dropped off. Or maybe he wants a reason to talk about this stupid, dare he say, _crush,_ on this baby faced stranger. Whatever it may be Jongdae, the saint, always enthusiastically agrees to drop him off, and promptly silences any questions or pestering that Baekhyun attempts. He feels his luck running out, sure that one of these days Baekhyun will hound him, and he’ll have to fess up. (Chanyeol isn’t quite sure if he’s looking forward to it.) 

Chanyeol settles back onto his seat and feels the vine of regret around his throat once more. However, he is surprised that this boy, this pretty faced prince, is the cause of its return and not thoughts of Joohyun. He laughs to himself as he puts in his earphones, his guitar next to him. Is it the pretty face or the furious look in his eyes that haunts him? But what’s more surprising is that Chanyeol feels like he missed something - an opportunity, perhaps. For what? He doesn’t quite know. 

On his fifth ride, when he’s no longer looking for him, the pretty boy sits next to Chanyeol, and he doesn’t notice. 

Chanyeol’s seated in the spot next to the aisle, somewhere in the middle, with his guitar case resting against the window. He’s looking through his phone notes trying to come up with the lyrics to the melody currently playing in his ears when someone prods him on the shoulder. He pulls out his earphones when he looks up and is caught in the pretty boy’s glittering brown eyes, the only two stars in an inky night sky.

The pretty boy’s eyebrows are drawn up high somewhere beneath his overgrown bangs and he’s looking at him so earnestly, eyes like galaxies, beautiful and breathtaking. 

Chanyeol is fucked. Honestly, what the fuck. 

Chanyeol feels the blush start around his neck and waits, not because he’s tongue tied, but because he’s winded and—ahh, fuck, yeah, he’s tongue tied. He tries to take a deep breath without noisily sucking in all the air and keeping his face impassive. 

“I just wanted to tell you,” the boy begins, eyes still so wide, “thank-thank you because I didn’t tell you last time,” at Chanyeol’s silence, the boy continues, leaning forward onto the arm rest, “I just thought you should know that it was important to me that you were there.” He finishes, voice a little panicked, “You do remember me, right? You know—” 

Chanyeol finally finds his words, a small laugh escaping before he can reel it in. He rushes to hide it when he spots the boy’s reddening cheeks. 

“Of course I remember you.” If possible, the boy’s blush intensifies. Chanyeol feels giddy but still manages to say in a steady voice, “You didn’t have to thank me—anyone would have done the same. But you’re welcome— _Annd_ , I’d do it again.” 

The boy looks up from his hands where they’re clutching the arm rest. 

Their eyes meet. 

The moon orbits the earth. A gravitational force. 

Chanyeol dry swallows. 

The boy shakes his head after a moment, like someone waking up from a dream, or coming out of a daze. “That’s not true, um—” His eyebrows crease together as he searches for a word that Chanyeol hasn’t shared yet.

“Chanyeol!” He blurts out, cheeks warming. He feels awkward and young, but also very dazed. His heart feels awfully light. 

Despite the surprise that blooms on his face when Chanyeol yells out his name, the boy continues, “Um, that’s not true Chanyeol.” And he smiles, this pretty boy smiles, and Chanyeol is more than smitten. But, the word escapes him now, so smitten will have to do for the time being. 

A comfortable silence settles in between them, the boy rests back against the seat, and Chanyeol pockets his earphones again. He wants to ask for his name when the bus lurches to a stop. 

The boy stands up, hauling up a black backpack this time. 

“Well this is me,” he shares. 

Before he can take more than a step, Chanyeol asks for his name. 

The pretty boy is a stunning image in his maroon sweater and black leggings as he looks back. “I’ll tell you when I see you again.” There’s a sexy curl to his lips as he says this, an enchanting sparkle in his brown eyes, that makes Chanyeol hold his breath, blood on slow simmer, interest _oh!_ so very piqued. Definitely not a boy but a man. 

“Thanks again, Chanyeol,” is the last thing he says before he turns away. 

Chanyeol really likes how his name sounds coming from those rose petal lips. 

***

The night after his in-class performance, Jongin sleeps like the dead into the next morning.

The adrenaline that powers him through September, October, and November dissipates once he gives his last spin on the tiny class stage. He pants, face dripping, combing his damp hair back as his instructor and several of his classmates applaud him and Taeyong. He is elated that they performed their routine to an almost perfect degree, even though there were a few mistakes. 

Jongin and Taeyong bow before stepping off the tiny stage for their water and towels. He won’t have to worry about this assignment’s grade anymore—he’s done all that he can do. Well until the recital, but that won’t be until after the end of term, right before the Christmas holidays. He had immediately signed up for it with Taeyong because it was extra credit, but Jongin was, kind of, regretting it now with the exhaustion settling deep into his bones, and sometimes it was like weights around his ankles, making him trip. But, Jongin couldn’t back out—not when his mother had invited most of the family: uncles, aunts, even his grandma who lived on the other side of the country. Not that he would have in the first place. All of the aches and the pains, the hours spent pushing his body to its limit—it's always worth it to stand on stage again and again.

Jongin stirs around 10:00 the next morning (Tuesday, the last school day before Thanksgiving break), before grumpily reaching for his phone. The dark curtains keep out the worst of the sun, but he struggles to make out the time.

Once he figures out the lines that make out the numbers, he drops the phone somewhere on the bed and lets his head fall back onto his pillows, blinking through the fog of the dream. He eventually figures out that he has three hours before his first class of the day, since his actual first class of the day had been cancelled. Something about his instructor driving back home across the country and needing the time for traveling.

He’s about to fall asleep again when his phone rings. Although muffled by his arm and blankets, it is shrill in the silent room. His eyes jerk open, dispersing that heavy blanket of nothingness into the air.

“Yeah?” He mumbles into the receiver, once he locates it and manages to accept the call. He knows it’s Sehun by the ringtone, Blackpink’s “Boombayah”, and not because he can see the name on the screen. Sehun, his sister, and his mom are the only ones with personalized ring tones—the only ones with unrestricted access to his phone. (Sehun had been quite the shy boy when they met, back in the tenth grade of high school. But as time has gone by, Jongin discovered that Sehun had barnacles, which was good because so did he. And, now Sehun is never shy—instead rather shameless when it comes to showing their BFF status. Jongin loves him.) 

He grunts because he can barely hear what Sehun is saying. What he pieces together is that Sehun wants to buy him breakfast—or is it lunch? —and that he’ll be at Starbucks (“the one in the library”) in like half an hour because of—something. Jongin registers that it might be a good idea for Sehun to buy him food (so that he doesn’t have to worry about finding his own) so he grunts his agreement but lays there for the next ten minutes. Until Sehun calls him again.

Thirty minutes later, Jongin finds himself at the Starbucks’s entrance, messy brown hair in a gray beanie, glasses hiding his tired eyes, and an oversized gray long sleeve paired with black skinny jeans keeping him warm. He sleepily squints around for Sehun, in spite of his glasses—on a normal day he wore his contacts. He doesn’t even know how he made it here unscathed.

It is why when he decides that Sehun has yet to make it to Starbucks and sits at an empty table by a window, resigned to wait by browsing through his phone, that he startles after Sehun drops heavily in the seat across him and says “Hi, pretty boy” in a voice that is not his. Did he fall asleep?

He swallows, mortified, as the realization hits him. The person who he assumed had pulled up the chair is not Sehun because he knows that voice.

Deep, alluring, dangerous.

Jongin should look up from his phone, but he can’t because he’s been repeating that voice since he spoke to him on the bus and thanked him for being a good person. If this was a dream, he would have woken up by now because that’s what’s happened the last few nights; his embarrassment has always been enough of a trigger to rescue him out of this situation, of seeing him again. He’s been indulging in that voice at night. It is when he allows himself to want and admit that he does find Chanyeol with the gauges (he looked up what the spiky earring was called), with the tattoos (although he doesn’t know what they are), and with the unruly hair attractive. _Hot_. Just like Sehun had said in disbelief when he told him about their last encounter, but Seulgi, his cousin, had said it was cute. So Jongin had begun to imagine and dream about seeing Chanyeol again but hadn’t been able to ride the bus since then to his sister’s because of his assignments, his practice schedule, among other things.

“Heeey,” Chanyeol murmurs close to his head and Jongin looks up, heart in his throat, to see a friendly smile. His cheeks warm; he can’t help it. He’s being stupid, overthinking. What if Chanyeol doesn’t even see him like that?

Chanyeol settles back into his seat and sets his hands on the table, phone and keys in his hands, easy smile on his lips, dimples in full view. Jongin can feel the weight of his gaze, but Jongin can’t look him straight in the eyes yet because he’s unprepared for this. The tiredness that was heavy on his mind has lessened, but he still feels sluggish from his long sleep. Instead of meeting Chanyeol’s eyes, Jongin finds his gaze drifting to Chanyeol’s ears, and he notices that he’s changed his gauge to a black one. He likes it. Then his eyes trace the line of his jaw to his neck where he can see a few dark lines extending out to the naked skin over his Adam’s apple. He’s wearing a red and black plaid shirt over a black T-shirt.

“I could message you a selfie, if you want.” The smugness in Chanyeol’s voice when he speaks brings Jongin’s eyes up to his. Jongin cheeks feel warmer, and his eyes grow wider.

Jongin isn’t normally this tongue tied in the face of people he finds attractive, but this experience is new. The people he usually flirts are women, not men. Except that dancer, ( _Yixing_?) Jongin’s not sure of his name. Their encounter was brief, during his friend’s graduation party.

Although he was eighteen at the time, not legal enough to drink, this was a high school graduation party after all, and someone had snuck in the alcohol. His friend’s parents weren’t at the event for most of the night. He was a little buzzed, on the sidelines with his fruit punch, when Yixing came to him, called him pretty, smiled at him with those deep dimples, and then somehow, he was in a corner, pressed against a wall making out with the sleepy-eyed dancer that he hadn’t paid much attention to before. It had been exhilarating, if not a little overwhelming and confusing. He woke up with a hickey in his friend’s bed. It led to self-realization as well as self-reflection. But that had been his one experience with a man.

However as unprepared and unstable as Jongin feels, sitting across from Chanyeol whose eyes are unwavering, Jongin decides that he doesn’t dislike Chanyeol’s attention, even if he can’t tell yet if he feels clumsy from the newness of the experience or from his deep sleep. Maybe, once he eats, he’ll know. He grasps onto something that doesn’t make him flustered and hears what Chanyeol called him when he sat down.

“Why did you call me pretty boy?” His nail finds the corner of his screen protector, and he digs under it, waiting for Chanyeol to respond.

“Because you are pretty.” 

Jongin stops digging under the screen protector. 

“And you never told me your name. What else was I supposed to call you?”

Chanyeol’s gaze digs into his, and Jongin’s heart stumbles.

“My name is Jongin.” 

Chanyeol smiles and holds out his hand, “Why don’t we do this again?” At Jongin’s quizzical look, Chanyeol continues,” Nice to meet you, Jongin. My name is Chanyeol.” 

Jongin’s ears feel hot too, but despite the embarrassment that he’s drowning under, Jongin takes it.

“Nice to meet you.”

Chanyeol is still holding his hand when Chanyeol’s phone dings with a message. Jongin takes back his tingling hand, biting his bottom lip.

It’s then that Sehun falls into a seat next to him with his blue _Tommy_ backpack dropping on the table, and Chanyeol stands up, grabbing his keys. 

Sehun says, “Hey,” on his right, but Jongin’s attention is on Chanyeol, who cheerfully says, “Hi” to Sehun, and “It was nice meeting you, Jongin.” 

Jongin murmurs, “You, too.” 

Disappointment has started to settle in as Chanyeol pushes in his chair and smiles one last time to Jongin, but just as he has taken a step away, Chanyeol, just as sudden, turns back to him, to them, and exclaims, “Oh, I almost forgot! My band will be playing tonight at _The Neon Room._ There’s a student discount. I’d really like to see you there.” His gaze fixes on Jongin for a moment, before shifting to Sehun. “And your friend too, of course.” 

Sehun, like the brat he is, says, “You will.” 

Jongin feels flustered but doesn’t negate this statement, glancing at Sehun, who’s no longer paying attention to them and is texting furiously, fingers flying over the screen. He’s probably texting his girlfriend, Chaeyoung, a cute Korean-Australian girl. 

“Okay, I’ll see you.” Chanyeol’s eyes stay on him before he turns away again. Jongin watches him until he meets up with a short man with a buzzcut by the doors. The man is holding two drinks in his hands, and laughs at something Chanyeol says, his whole face wrinkling cutely.

He tears his gaze from them, ignoring the sudden sour taste on his tongue, and he’s met with Sehun’s thick eyebrows raised in a question, curiosity in the set of his mouth.

“No, no—” Jongin starts, but when Sehun opens his mouth, Jongin amends what he was going to say to--“Not until you buy me what you promised.” 

Sehun grunts, “Fine, I’ll be back. But you’ll tell me and Chaeyoung. She’s coming right now from her class.”

Jongin nods. “Okay.” He likes Chaeyoung. She takes better care of him than Sehun does, laughs at him less. “One of these days I’m going to steal her away from you,” Jongin calls to Sehun’s back. 

Sehun, the fucker, turns back to him. “I don’t think so. That was Chanyeol, right?”

Jongin closes his mouth, and Sehun grins. A brat.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd made it this far, thank you.
> 
> When I first posted this, I intended for this fic to be longer but between then and now I've lost the motivation. If I ever find it again, I'll continue posting. Until then, consider this finished. 
> 
> Talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kaibaerries) if you'd like.


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